


Family

by lustig



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Caretaking, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Surprise Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 00:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19712827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustig/pseuds/lustig
Summary: Treville had a really bad day, and the fact all his Musketeers are missing isn't helping, either. And yet, there is nothing malicious about his boys' behaviour, because in the end, family is never just about blood.





	Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grabmotte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grabmotte/gifts).



> \- because we were wondering when Treville's birthday was. Beta'd by the fabulous liadt.

Captain Treville was not in a very good mood.

That was a huge understatement.

Everything that could go wrong today _had_ gone wrong. He had wanted to do a small drill in the morning, but his idiot musketeers had decided that a _Thursday_ was a perfectly reasonable day to get drunk enough to be unable to get up by themselves in the morning.

When he had finally dragged the last of his recruits out of bed, basically pulling him out by his hair, a messenger appeared, directly from the Louvre, requesting his immediate presence for a surprise war council meeting.

So he had bellowed orders to Athos, who looked so hungover he wasn’t sure the Lieutenant had been able to remember half of what Treville had said. Already pissed off, he had spoken extra loud, of course.

Then, when he wanted to take his horse, to be on time for the meeting, he remembered Bastard was still lame. The animal had been injured during the last hunt with the king. Therefore, he decided not to bother riding – the council would simply have to wait a few minutes longer, if they had to request his presence out of the blue.

He was only a Captain, after all, so his opinion was not the most important one anyway. That honour belonged to His Eminence, Generalissime Cardinal de Richelieu, and Treville’s personal pain in the ass. He would bet a year’s pension it was the Red Beast who had spontaneously decided they needed a council meeting. The King never came up with ideas like that himself.

With a sigh, the Captain made his way on foot through the streets, and only remembered the huge market they were holding when he ran into the sheer mass of people visiting it.

There was no way around it, and without his horse, progress was slower than slow.

When he finally managed to reach the council chamber, smelling of fish, horseshit and sweat, everyone stopped to stare at him, and only his furious glare, matching the cold anger in Richelieu’s own eyes, stopped the First Minister from making a scathing comment.

“Now that our last member has finally decided to show up, let’s talk about why we’ve gathered here,” Richelieu sneered, and _why the hell_ had they waited for him?

The meeting was even worse than Treville had anticipated. It stretched out over hours and hours without any decisions and whenever he tried to make a suggestion, he was shut down and dismissed without being allowed to present his idea properly.

Once the meeting was finally over, it had already started to get dark again and it was _pouring_. Cold, wet rain and an even colder wind transforming the streets of the city into mud pools which made the plastered streets into a slippery death trap.

It took Treville longer to get back to the Garrison than it had taken him to get to the Louvre in the morning, and once he returned, he was drenched to his bones.

The courtyard he stepped into was completely deserted, even the torches and lanterns weren’t burning.

No, Treville was not in a very good mood.

“ ** _Athos!_** ” he bellowed, angrily, yet still, nothing moved.

He stepped further into the empty yard, scanning the muddy training ground, where the absence of footprints confirmed his suspicion that his Lieutenant had failed to follow his instructions.

A movement, spotted in the corner of his eye, lead to a fast twirl while drawing his rapier, the tip now pointed between the terrified eyes of one of his recruits, who raised his hands and froze on spot.

“Where are they?” the Captain hissed, and the eyes of the boy widened further. Oh, yes. Treville was in a _bad_ mood.

“I- I can lead you to them, Sire,” the boy stuttered, “but don’t you want to change your cloak, first?”

Upon the dark growl, he blanched and bowed his head.

“Yessir, please, follow me, Sire.”

To Treville’s surprise, they stepped back towards the Garrisons entrance, where the boy took another look at his Captain and his sad attire, opened his mouth as if to comment but then decided against it, closing it again with an audible _clack._

After a few minutes’ walk through the – by now nearly deserted – streets of the city, Treville reigned in his anger enough to ask in a nearly civil tone, “How come they’re all gone, but you stayed at the Garrison – no, don’t lie, I know none of you lot would willingly rat out your comrades.”

The boy blushed, his mouth opening and closing a few times, before he bowed his head, never slowing down, and stated softly: “Because someone had to be there when you came, Captain. I am afraid I can’t tell you more, for now. It’s nothing dangerous, I promise!” he added quickly when he saw Treville’s expression darkening again. The Captain stared at his recruit until the lad started to fidget, but he looked so determined Treville let it slip without further inquiry.

He simply hoped they would be at the end of their little journey soon, so he could deal with his regiment of idiots and then go to sleep, to try and get rid of the headache he already felt coming. He looked around, only half-curious, because anger was still his driving force, and realised he knew the way they were taking very well.

Too well, for his taste.

Especially for another Musketeer to lead him there.

When they stopped in front of a plain, unremarkable door, not five minutes later, his fears were confirmed.

“We’re here, Sire,” the boy mumbled and bowed his head. Treville did not move.

“How do you know of this place?” he asked darkly instead, and the recruit bit his lips, blushing again.

“Porthos, Sire,” he answered quietly.

Treville gave the boy another dark look, and opened the door to his tiny and previously Musketeer-free Basque refuge.

The sounds in the small tavern died down.

“I hope you have a _very_ good explanation for this,” the Captain growled, and he saw more than one face blanching. He must be quite the sight, his clothing darkened by their soaked state, and the light of the street and the room highlighting the shadows of his face. He looked around the room, stuffed with his regiment. It, indeed, seemed like all of them were here.

Athos, as he should as second-in-command, stepped forward, closely followed by the rest of his usual entourage. He bowed quickly, respectfully, then searched for his Captain’s eyes before starting to talk.

“Captain,” he began, “we,” he let his hand sweep over the Musketeers behind him, for once all silent and listening attentively, “we wanted to thank you. You’ve always been here for us, every single one of us, guiding and teaching us, even if we can be more stubborn, more stupid and more idiotic than even the greatest fool.”

A few people laughed, and Athos couldn’t suppress a pleased little smile. Treville was still cautious, unsure of what this was supposed to mean, but his threatening stance relaxed slightly.

“And for most of us, if not all, you gave us more of a home and a family than our blood family ever could. We’re nobles, but we’re also second sons. Yet you made all of us feel worthy, like firstborns.” Athos took a deep breath and finished: “We wanted to give you back something of what you make us feel. And because none of us actually knows your birthdate, we decided to use the anniversary of your captaincy for this. Because it is surely the birthday of your role as our father figure.”

Treville opened his mouth, touched beyond words, when Porthos added, in his soft, dark baritone: “I know you and the Red Guard captain are quite close, for whatever reasons, and when I asked him if he knew a place for us to do this, he pointed us here. We won’t visit this place in the future, either, not unless invited by yourself. We accept this is your personal refuge. And you’ve always tried to respect our boundaries and wishes, too.”

“You’re invited, for tonight, of course,” Aramis threw in, “you just need to sit down and enjoy.” He grinned, his wild hair half-hiding his eyes. “Happy birthday, Captain. And thank you, for giving us a family.”


End file.
